


freedom to refuse

by beardsley



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Off-screen Child Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 09:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beardsley/pseuds/beardsley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>'I never told you your work would be pretty.'</i> (Written for <a href="http://troublesteady.dreamwidth.org/2013/06/16/marvel-femslash-prompt-fest-1.html?thread=403301#cmt403301">this prompt</a> on the Marvel Femslash Prompt Fest.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	freedom to refuse

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Право на отказ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1361305) by [leoriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoriel/pseuds/leoriel)



'She was a kid, for fuck's sake!' Jess shuts the door with as much force as she can muster, and the motel room goes dim and claustrophobic without the corridor's stuttering fluorescent lights. There is still blood under her fingernails, Jess knows, and the thought makes her nauseous. Just as she opens her mouth to yell more, the memory of that Skrull girl flashes right before her eyes and the fight — along with Jess' damn will to live — goes out of her. Her shoulders slump in defeat. 'You never told me I'd be killing kids,' she says. It comes out dull.

Brand gets off the tiny hotel bed. For once she's not wearing the goggles, but her expression is unreadable enough that she might as well be.

'I never told you your work would be pretty.'

The room is damp and hot, like the rest of Madripoor this time of year. Sweat is beading at the back of Jess' neck, sticky and cold. She can feel her mouth twisting in a snarl. 'Oh, why don't you piss right off.'

'Avengers do pretty,' says Brand. She's so calm it's annoying and the words themselves don't exactly help Jess calm down, because — wow, yeah, Avengers. Been there, done that, got impersonated by a fucking alien invasion leader and then treated like a traitor. 'X-Men do pretty. Even SHIELD, on occasion, do pretty. We do pragmatic. We do _necessary_. We do —'

'Kiddie slaughter?'

It doesn't faze Brand. It doesn't even make her blink. In that moment, Jess thinks she has never wanted more to punch another woman square in the face. Then she remembers Madame Hydra, then Veranke — and really, that always puts things into perspective. She realises she's shaking, just a little, her hands (with blood still on them, _Christ_ ) and her heart going a mile an hour in her chest like it wants to make a break for it right through her throat, and Jess —

Jess can't. She _can't_.

'We do what we have to do to protect this planet,' Brand is saying, now a frown creasing her brow. The room is small and it takes Jess four strides before she's in Brand's personal space. 'Look, all right, if it's such an issue I can filter out these kinds of cases from your —'

Workload? Potential assignments? File? Whatever it is Brand wants to say, she doesn't finish before Jess cups her face in both hands and kisses her, dry and hard and as shaky as the rest of her feels, and if she's desperate then so fucking be it. If she can't punch Brand in the face, then maybe she can at least shut her up — and if it's an unhealthy coping mechanism, well, Jess is more than happy to blame her upbringing.

When she pulls back, Brand is staring at her. Jess swallows compulsively around the tightness in her throat.

'What are you doing?' Brand demands.

'I don't know,' Jess admits. She feels colour rising in her face at the clearly, painfully obvious misery in her voice. 'I've no goddamn clue.'

It has to mean something that Brand isn't twisting away from the touch Jess still has on her (and she has to hold on to something so her hands will stay still). 'You're running on adrenaline.'

'Probably. Yeah.'

There is a long pause. Jess can hear Brand's and her own breathing: the first is calm and steady, the second not so much. They're standing close enough that she can see just how green Brand's eyes are — as green as the tiny Skrull girl's skin was, before everything went red. Jess swallows again.

Finally: 'All right,' Brand says.

Jess doesn't have the time to question it, ask for more of an explanation or maybe something approaching words that make any kind of sense at all — and she's babbling inside her own head, because she feels like she might shake apart if she stops to think, but mostly because Brand is grabbing her by the shoulders and backing her against the wall and Jess tries to put up a fight, but she doesn't fight enough.

She doesn't fight when Brand turns her so she has to lean against the wall on both forearms, and she doesn't fight when Brand unceremoniously shoves one hand down her jeans.

She doesn't fight. The noise she makes, the noise that crawls its way out of her throat, isn't a _fight_. It's pathetic, pathetic and weak, and it sounds like a plea. Her body does the opposite of fighting, too; her legs moving on automatic, spreading like it's a cop shaking her down and not her — boss. Commander. Superior agent. _Something_.

It's hard to concentrate on semantics when Brand is breathing, still calm and oh-so-fucking-steady, right in Jess ear. She wraps her free arm around Jess' waist and Jess doesn't want to think that Brand is holding her up, but she knows that's what it is. She's shaking and she barely has enough strength to lean against the wall and try to lean back against Brand's chest and not collapse, and she can't close her eyes — when she does, all she can see is red. Red on green.

The noises she's making are embarrassing, but when Jess bites her lip the room is suddenly filled with the sounds of their breathing and Brand's hand on her, _in_ her, messy and slick. Jess thinks deliriously it goes with the sleazy humid thing the whole hotel's got going — it's perfect for sleazy sticky sex, it really is — then has to choke back a moan, because Jesus Christ, Brand knows what she's doing. Jess has no clue if she's really turned on or if it's just the adrenaline talking, and it's not like Brand isn't easy on the eyes, but she doesn't want — she doesn't want this, not this way, and still she can feel herself clenching around Brand's fingers and the smile (smirk, grin, sneer) Brand presses against the side of her neck means she's doing well, somehow.

It doesn't take long before Jess is coming apart at the seams, and by that point there's no use pretending she's standing on her own — she's anchored by Brand's arm around her waist and impaled on Brand's fingers in her and she has to muffle a noise that is all begging, all anger, all fear, all _wrong_.

She's still dazed when Brand lets her go, and Jess barely manages to keep herself from falling. In the end she turns so her back hits the wall and she slides down, grimacing at the disgusting feeling of her ruined underwear. The zipper on her jeans is down, and she didn't even notice, and now doesn't have the strength to fix herself.

Ha. Story of her life.

It takes a few minutes before her breathing evens out and she can look up at Brand, still so damn unperturbed as she wipes her hands in a tissue produced from _somewhere_.

'What,' Jess says. She refuses to wonder at how now, all of a sudden, her voice chooses to not shake for a change. 'Why — why?'

'I take care of my assets,' says Brand.

Jess snorts, a low, ugly noise that grates all the way out of her mouth. 'That is such bullshit.'

And that, right there, might be a hint of a smirk. Brand raises an eyebrow. 'Fine,' she allows. 'I take care of this particular asset.'

For a moment Jess isn't sure if Brand is being serious or if she's still bullshitting, and it pisses her off that she can't tell. It pisses her off that Brand is so damn good at fronting. Maybe it's something SWORD could teach Jess. Maybe there are classes.

'Jesus,' she mutters, and drops her head into her hands.

There is a shuffle of feet on the gross-smelling carpet, and then Brand puts one hand on Jess' knee. 'You're good, Jessica,' she says. She's lucky she doesn't sound pitying, otherwise Jess swears to god she'd sock her right on the jaw. 'You're valuable to me. You just need to adapt. I — I hear the first time is always worst, and then it gets easier.'

And with that she's up again, moving past Jess. The door opens with a soft creak, and fluorescent lights throw trembling shadows over the bed and floor.

'Each time after that is easier,' Brand says, and then she's gone.

Jess wonders, a little hysterically, if Brand meant sex — and knows she didn't.

She manages to make it to the bathroom before she throws up.


End file.
